


Fear of Falling

by Crawlingthroughashes



Category: Young Justice (Cartoon)
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Khaji Da Being an Asshole, M/M, Non-Graphic Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-10
Updated: 2016-04-10
Packaged: 2018-05-10 07:31:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5576794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crawlingthroughashes/pseuds/Crawlingthroughashes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><span class="small">"Jaime?" Bart's voice sounds absolutely wrecked; raw and hoarse, as if his lungs have been irreparably damaged from screaming. Smears of soot and grime discolor his pale skin, covering the parts of his face not protected by the mask. There's a hollowness in his gaze. His eyes are a brilliant green with gold striations, but it looks as if someone sucked out all the life from them. They're dull, matte, the kind of eyes one would find belonging to a corpse.</span><br/>  <span class="small">"It's okay," Jaime breathes, expression hitched somewhere between pained and worried. "It's okay." <i>(I'm okay.)</i> </span></p><p>  <span class="small">"T-they said one of the squads got captured," Bart whimpers. Jaime's not sure why Bart's relaying all of this to him. After all, he received the very same speech from Aqualad. Hearing it again is tedious and unnecessary. Still, he keeps silent. "I thought it was yours."</span></p>
            </blockquote>





	Fear of Falling

**Author's Note:**

> I've had like a serious case of writer's block lately, mostly due to my lack of confidence in my writing lol. But I miss Bluepulse so I figured it's time I try writing for it again.
> 
> The fic is set a few years after where the show left off.

"Jaime?" Bart's voice sounds absolutely wrecked; raw and hoarse, as if his lungs have been irreparably damaged from screaming. Smears of soot and grime discolor his pale skin, covering the parts of his face not protected by the mask. There's a hollowness in his gaze. His eyes are a brilliant green with gold striations, but it looks as if someone sucked out all the life from them. They're dull, matte, the kind of eyes one would find belonging to a corpse.

"It's okay," Jaime breathes, expression hitched somewhere between pained and worried. "It's okay." (I'm okay.) 

"T-they said one of the squads got captured," Bart whimpers. Jaime's not sure why Bart's relaying all of this to him. After all, he received the very same speech from Aqualad. Hearing it again is tedious and unnecessary. Still, he keeps silent. "I thought it was yours." 

"Bart, no. I'm okay. I'm right here." He tries to reach out, to console the speedster with touch, but he jerks back, like a skittish animal. Jaime watches as he shakes his head rapidly, strands of blood-streaked hair falling into his face. 

"The mission tanked. Almost everyone was injured. And Gar, he was... He was bleeding out in front of me. At first I didn't think there was a risk of us dying, but then one of... one of _them_ announced that there wasn't a need for hostages. They'd already captured a squad. They were going to kill us, but all I could think about as you. What if they had you, Jaime? What was I supposed to do? It shouldn't have mattered, because I was going to die anyway at that point, but it did. It did and I—"

Jaime's lips are on Bart's before he can even register the decision to move. Their teeth clack together as he presses their mouths firmly together. The ferrous taste of blood fills Jaime's mouth, and it's jarring, how different this kiss is from their other ones. Despite the unavoidable taste of copper, Jaime can't bring himself to pull away, but he also doesn't risk deepening the kiss. Bart's stilled against him. It's not often that Jaime takes him by surprise, or is the one to initiate things.

The speedster starts to slowly pull back, and Jaime relents, shifting backwards until a hand darts out to fist the fabric of his shirt. Jaime's eyes follow the movement of Bart's hand as it trembles violently. His knuckles have paled and the veins in his hand stand out prominently from how tight he's gripping onto Jaime's shirt. 

"Bart?" Jaime asks softly, a note of uncertainty in his tone. When he doesn't immediately answer, regret begins to trip its way up Jaime's spine. He mouths wordlessly, searching for his voice, but he can't organize his thoughts, let alone his words. _Sorry._ Just say sorry. He tries to form an apology, but his tongue feels brittle. It's almost as if the muscle has frozen over, and if he tries to speak he'll only crack it against his teeth. 

The silence grows heavy around them, stagnating until it's almost unbearable. Still, Jaime doesn't dare break it. Bart rarely ever gets like this. He's usually open, at least with Jaime, and things have to be really bad for him to try to retreat into himself. Swallowing the gall-like lump in his throat, Jaime extends his hand towards Bart. Slowly, very slowly, so that if the need arises he can pull back without startling Bart. When there's no reaction, Jaime deems it safe to touch him. He affixes his hand to his boyfriend's arm, closing around the lightly muscled limb, and letting his thumb sweep over it in a gentle caress. Bart's hand wanders from Jaime's shirt to his arm, and they stay like that, holding each other and refusing to let go. Jaime wonders when the universe decided to make Bart his lifeline, and vice versa. He wonders what he did in a past life to earn Bart, because he'll take the speedster in any way he can; acquaintance, ally, friend, lover... even enemy. Logically, he knows what a strange thing that is to think, but there's nothing normal about their relationship. After what he's done as Blue Beetle, Bart should want nothing to do with him. He has every right to hatred or disgust, but instead he looks at Jaime as if he is falling. Even now, Bart's green eyes look lost, but content with not knowing where he is or why. Unsurprisingly, Jaime finds himself feeling the same way. 

Bart's fingers clench and unclench around Jaime, digging into the point of pain. In response, Jaime tightens his grip, but not painfully so. Just to the point that his touch is stabilizing. 

Bart watches the movement of Jaime's hand on his arm, and Jaime watches Bart. He feels something foreign flutter in his chest. It's the sensation that there's no where else in the world that he'd rather be at any given moment. The world could end and Jaime wouldn't care, not if he's with Bart. Green eyes lift to meet his, and there's a tug in Jaime's chest. A magnetic pull, gravitating him towards Bart. He moves in closer, so that they are chest-to-chest, but their eyes never leave the other. He's afraid to blink, afraid to miss even a nanosecond of what's in front of him. Most people are uncomfortable with prolonged eye contact; aside from staring contests. Jaime is admittedly one of them. There's something unsettling about people staring intently at him for so long, as if they are trying to pull him apart piece-by-piece. But Bart doesn't need to try. He's disassembled Jaime's armour and barriers time and time again. And he's the only one to ever do so. 

They continue to stare, and Jaime wonders what Bart sees, what could possibly interest him so much. 

It's different for him, because Jaime isn't staring at some plain Hispanic, Catholic boy only made unique due to the alien A.I. grafted to his spine. No, Jaime is staring at someone who's lived through hell. Who's well acquainted with torture and death and despair. Who's given up his life to save the world, and Jaime in turn. Bart is a phenomena, and enigma, and just when Jaime thinks he has him all figured out, he'll do something to surprise him and completely change everything. 

They continue to stare, and Jaime is distantly aware of how the world falls away, leaving the two of them alone and together. They stare, and it's not a thread of fate connecting them, but something far more delicate, like a single spider's thread. They stare, and it exists like a pendulum moment, there for the barest second before it is rocked away. 

Bart break's eye contact, dropping his hand from Jaime's arm to wrap it around his own waist. "I was scared," Bart murmurs plaintively. "I _am_ scared." 

"I'm always scared," Jaime admits. "I'm just not as aware of it. If it's serious, the scarab will inform me or lecture me, so when it doesn't say anything, I just kind of ignore it." 

"That's the thing. I _can't_ ignore it," there's a tremor in his voice that makes him sound frail. "It's so moded, but I don't know how to make it stop. I don't want to be afraid anymore." 

Jaime cups his boyfriend's delicate face with his hands. "Sometimes you can't make it stop. You have to let it run its course. That doesn't mean you have to pay attention to it, though. You can ignore it, like I do, or distract yoursel—" 

_"Yes."_

Jaime's eyebrows raise questioningly.

"I-I mean. Distract me. Please." 

Jaime licks his lips. They're chapped and dry, and the taste of blood—Bart's blood—lingers. "Are you sure?" 

As soon as Bart nods, Jaime surges forwards once more, this time burying his face in Bart's neck, and inhaling heavily. Bart's scent is intoxicating. His natural smell is not "woodsy" or "musky" like romance novels would describe, but instead smells of fabric-softener, of blood and sweat, and most strongly of the sweet fragrance of strawberry shampoo that Bart 'borrowed' from Iris months ago and has failed to return. 

Jaime's hands naturally settle in Bart's hair, tangling in the soft strands, and sifting through his chestnut hair until coming across clumped, bloody sections. It bothers Jaime to think about, but the evidence of the battle is right here in front of him. Despite Bart's accelerated healing abilities, he's still mortal, still subjectable to fatal wounds and at risk of bleeding out if said wounds are serious enough. It makes moments like this all the more precious, because, unlike him, Bart doesn't have a suit of armour that will protect him without fail. He's not weak, not by any means, but he's human. He's human and Jaime is afraid to lose him. More afraid of that than anything else. 

_[You are being irrational, Jaime Reyes.]_ Khaji Da chides. _[The Kidflash has not sustained any lasting injuries. Worrying is futile.]_

Jaime scrunches his eyes shut. He's come to regard Khaji Da as an ally rather than a parasite, but there's still something unnerving about hearing the disembodied voice in his mind. When Bart wraps his arms around Jaime, pulling him closer until their hips are touching, all thoughts of the scarab dissipate. All he can focus on is the shaking body pressed up against him. Jaime's grip tightens subconsciously, and he begins to press paper-light, open-mouthed kisses to the skin between the juncture of Bart's neck and shoulder. Bart shivers against Jaime, but he knows its a result of his ministrations, rather than a frisson of genuine fear. 

Jaime resettles his hands on Bart's face, and he wipes at the dirt and dried blood. He tries to wipe it away, but only succeeds in smearing it thinner and thinner. Streakier. Messier. 

Bart's lips twitch at the corners into a weak smile. "It's fine, Jaime," he assures. It is most certainly not fine. Bart should never have to be injured again. He deserves a long life free of hurt, but that is not something Jaime is capable of giving him. He isn't able to catch Bart, or be there to stop him from falling. But he can give him something else. He can fall with him. 

When their lips find each other, something deep and warm ignites in Jaime's chest. He swallows up every gasp, every hitched breath and sob. They've grown so familiar with each other, over the years of bickering and laughing and fighting together. He remembers griping over stolen bags of chips, and berating Bart for raiding his refrigerator. He remembers confiding nightmares and racing across the deserts of El Paso. He remembers star-gazing with Bart one night, how the speedster had turned to him thoughtfully. "Hey, Jaime?" he'd murmured, sounding distant.

"Yeah?"

"Did you know 80 million bacteria are transferred when you kiss someone?" Jaime hadn't even been able to utter a confused _"Qué carajo?"_ before Bart had smashed their mouths together. 

Since that experience, they've grown more familiar with each other, what the other likes and wants. Jaime knows that Bart really enjoys having his hair pulled, and hearing Jaime speak Spanish. And Jaime's learned that he personally likes when Bart talks so fast that his words blur together, if only so he can shut him up with a kiss. 

"Jaime," Bart breathes raggedly. His hand slides underneath Jaime's shirt and strokes up his side, leaving a trail of warmth in his wake. He traces over the contour of Jaime's stomach, pressing his hand against his chest as it rises and falls in time with his breathing. "Jaime," Bart repeats, but it comes out as more of a whine. Jaime imagines Bart in a state where his thoughts are too foggy with lust to say anything other than his boyfriend's name. To repeat it over and over again at super-speed, until it sounds like a nonsensical word. 

Jaime kisses along Bart's jaw, nipping and sucking at the skin until it turns a ruddy color. The taste of blood and ash should be off-putting, but it's Bart, it's Bart he's kissing, and that makes it worth it. 

"Jaime," Bart keens again. "I-I want you." 

He hums. "You have me." 

"That's not what I—a- _ah._ " Bart's voice trails off dumbly as Jaime bites softly into his neck. He's sensitive. He's always been sensitive. 

_"Dios, Bart. Eres perfecto."_ Jaime pushes his legs a part with his knee, pressing firmly against his boyfriend. He figures Bart's been through enough to day to have to put up with any teasing. 

“Sh—shit.” Bart stutters, pushing his hips forwards against him. He's always been eloquent. 

_[Jaime Reyes, the Kidflash is suitably distracted from its anxieties. You may cease your actions.]_

A snort escapes Jaime before he can suppress it. 

"W-what?" Bart asks. 

Jaime shakes his head, laughing softly against Bart's skin. "Scarab suggested I stop because you're, and I quote, 'suitably distracted.'" 

Bart's eyes narrow, and he reaches behind Jaime to press a finger against the scarab on his back. "Traitor." He pauses, tilting his head as he assesses his word-choice. _"Cockblocker,"_ he amends finally. 

Jaime's hands settle on Bart's slim waist, holding him tight as they rock against each other. He gasps from how good it feels. How perfect it is to have Bart against him, holding him, touching him. He feels like he's falling once again. The ground's given beneath his feet, and he's hurtling through time and space. But it's alright. It's alright because he's with Bart. He doesn't have to worry about hitting the ground, because he doesn't think they'll ever stop falling. "You know, I'd have to disagree with scarab on this. I don't think you're distracted enough." 

**Author's Note:**

> Spanish translations:  
>  _Qué carajo?_ \- What the fuck.
> 
>  _Dios, Bart. Eres perfecto_ \- God, Bart. You're perfect.
> 
> Comments and feedback are appreciated.


End file.
